


Creative Disruption

by Aenigmatic



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abandoned Fic, All because the Tumblr Lokaners still care, And most of you will be pulling out your hair, F/M, Gen, Just 3 long chapters, Tumblr collaboration, permanently incomplete
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 22:43:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4497540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aenigmatic/pseuds/Aenigmatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Corporate espionage, back-biting and bucket-loads of money. It's everything that Loki wants and does freely...and more, after years and precious money spent building an empire to rival and undermine his adopted family's business. And of course, there's this very small niggling problem of Jane Foster, with whom he shares a complicated history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The Tumblr Lokaners](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+Tumblr+Lokaners).



> Creative Disruption is permanently incomplete, which is probably the most important thing you need to know before you even start reading these 3 not-so-short chapter. 
> 
> It began quite a long time ago as a Tumblr collaboration that fell apart (more than a pity) and years later, I still thought that the Lokane community (that is so fantastically fanfic-driven) deserves to know what happened to it. After seeking opinions in this crazily supportive community, I've been cajoled and persuaded that it's still something that needs to be posted nonetheless. 
> 
> So there you go, Lokaners. For you. And I hope you won't be too disappointed with how much (or how little) there is.

**Monday, August 6, 2012, 0700 hrs**  
Algor Inc.  
Manhattan, New York City

“Are you ready, Sir?”

Pausing to straighten his tie and smooth his hair, he nods once. “I’m ready.”

The butler nods stiffly and opens the door with gloved fingers. “The car awaits.”

“Thank you, Stanhope.”

He walks to the door and takes the briefcase that the butler hands to him with a curt word of thanks.

He flips open the morning papers the moment he’s seated in the town car, glances at the headlines, then turns the pages, speed-reading as he does. Then snorts at the sensationalist headings and briefly scoffs at the appalling standards of the news reports in this country.

He leaves the financial news for last, perusing everything in that section during the long drive across town, paying particular attention to the frequent mentions of Prism Dynamics and Algor Inc. in several reports.

But none of these articles prove to be remotely interesting. Instead, they’re mostly speculative pieces, with a touch of hysteria in them; in all, they’re poor attempts to substantiate rumours of all the talk of acquisitions, mergers and the rise of strategic alliances.

Again, he briefly wonders about the standards of the reports and the value of having such articles in print.

Tossing the papers aside, he snaps his briefcase open, pulling out the files on his latest conquest, preferring to focus on the core event for the day.

Another takeover, another triumph.

All the world’s a stage indeed.

_His_ stage.

oOo

**BREAKING NEWS**

**SHIELD TECHNOLOGIES ACQUIRED FOR $97.6 MILLION  
by Roy Gallup for _Bloomberg Businessweek_**

_Algor Inc. will pay roughly $97.6 million to buy Shield Technologies (NASDAQ: SHLD) as the privately-owned conglomerate seeks to expand beyond its established business in craft-to-craft communication systems and rocket engine development._

_Algor Inc. claims the acquisition of Shield Technologies will generate annual revenues of approximately $500m, but the company has yet to reveal the financial details of the deal._

_The purchase price represents a 42 percent premium over Shield’s closing stock price on Friday, both companies said in a joint statement. Investors who hold the 95.7 million common shares in Shield will receive a 33 percent premium while 80.2 million Class A stocks will draw a premium of-_

With a low growl, Darcy Lewis crumples the entire financial section of the papers and flings it across the office, watching with some satisfaction as it lands in a messy, crumpled pile that obstructs the narrow carpeted corridor. Almost immediately, a passing woman in a grey suit trips and nearly falls over that tangled ball.

Snorting, Darcy tucks her recently-dyed hair neatly behind her ears, uncaring of the startled looks thrown her way at the uncharacteristic show of temper.

Let them stare.

It’s her last day here anyway. She couldn’t care less, not when her life is pretty much over.

That stinking letter sitting in the far right corner of her desk has just made sure of it.

A veritable exaggeration? Maybe.

Because losing this job means that she’s going to kiss all that money goodbye. That university loan that she’s only just begun to pay off? Well, it’s _adios_ and _sayonara_ – to that too.

She isn’t the only one to lose this coveted position with Shield Tech, but she’s definitely the only one showing her unhappiness that openly.

Her cell beeps again and Darcy picks it up with shaking fingers, glancing through the short but concerned reply.

_Don’t worry about rent. I can and will cover this until something else comes your way._

A small smile curves her lips. What would she ever do without that socially awkward, kind-hearted and brilliant roommate of hers?

Her fingers fly over the glossy screen of the phone, rapidly tapping out a quick message.

_Thanks, doll, you’re the best. I really need this right-_

The synthesised bass tones of Madonna’s _Like a Virgin_ ring out suddenly, automatically garnering dirty looks from the rest of her colleagues sharing that cluster of work stations. Just her bad luck to have actually gotten co-workers who actually worship classical music.

So she likes cheesy music of the 80s and 90s. It doesn’t mean that they have to act as though the world had ended each time the latest pop tune comes blaring out of her iphone.

Not as though that’s going to be her problem anymore, isn’t it?

She takes the call immediately, not bothering to check the caller ID and barks loudly into the speaker, “What?”

“Darcy? Just calling to ask if you’re okay.”

Oh. Trust Jane to call and behave like the mother hen she unknowingly becomes when she gets really worried.

“Okay?” She snorts, then feels guilty for taking out her anger on Jane who’s undeserving of it. “Not really. He’s a bastard. With a capital ‘B’. There’s no other word for him.”

“Uh, who’s ‘ _the bastard’_?”

Right, she hadn’t explained yet. “The new boss.”

“Oh. Listen, I’m sorry that this awful thing is happening and I thought you’d like to talk. For a while at least, before I get back to my desk and face my experiments once again.”

“Actually, I’d like to do more than talk. I want several bottles of beer to drown my sorrows and maybe a good fuck to top it all off.”

Meaningful silence greets her pronouncement. Okay, maybe that _was_ a bit much.

Darcy sighs and explains patiently, “Jane, this job was everything to me. I know, I’m just a lowly secretary doing administrative work, but it’s paying the bills and the rent.”

“The secretary’s more important than you think. I’d be dead if not for your organisational skills. And I did say the rent payment’s covered for the next few months. Besides, I like having you around.”

“Thanks, dude,” Darcy says, absently twirling a stray lock of hair around a finger. “Hey, what do you say about doing something tonight? Girls’ night out. Let’s both hit up a bar or something. God knows I’m going to need all the booze I can take.”

Jane laughs. “You got that. I’ll clear my schedule.”

“Oh please, when are you ever busy at night? Ever since that mysterious, enigmatic co-worker scientist of yours left Prism Dynamics-”

“Uh, okay,” Jane interrupts hurriedly, “this isn’t about me, Darcy.”

“We’ll see about that,” she smirks then looks at her watch. “As much as I like to chat, I can’t. I’m officially fired at 5 pm today and right now, I’m expected to be in the conference room to listen to this new hotshot boss giving us a useless and boring welcome speech.”

“Alright. I’ll need to get back to my experiments too. Tell me all about it later.”

“Sure thing. See you at the usual?”

“Yup.”

Darcy disconnects the line and gets up from her seat with a groan.

The conference room is packed to the brim with reporters, other hotshots and many other suits waiting to hear the new CEO’s speech. She settles somewhere in the corner and cranes her neck to look…to no avail. It still seems as though everyone’s still taller than her even when she wears three-inch heels to work.

Abruptly, the noise clears.

“Welcome and thank you for being part of this very, very important milestone in our company’s history. Without further ado, I’d like to say that the many rumours you have heard in the past month do have some basis. We are pleased to announce that Algor Inc. and Shield Technologies have reached an agreement to merge and restructure their organisations so both can devote time, resources, and expertise to what they know best in the Aerospace industry. Our board of directors believe that this transaction, which follows a diligent and thorough review process by the board, provides outstanding benefits for all our stakeholders. Effective today, we will begin to put into effect a restructuring plan that will help us eliminate redundancy in our field operations-”

Darcy patiently half-listens to the first half of Shield Tech’s managing director’s speech, then tunes out the entire second half when he begins talking about meaningless platitudes about staff morale and organisational restructuring.

The speech drags on and she’s tempted to whip out her mobile again when scattered applause signals the end of it.

The room falls back into tense silence when a throat is cleared pointedly. A few seconds later, a baritone rings out in a cultured, upper-crust accent with perfectly enunciated tones and inflections-

Her jaw drops in disbelief.

_No damn way._

Darcy risks a slight jump to see just who’s talking and barely makes out that tall, long figure clad in a snazzy black suit perfectly complementing his longish, lightly curling hair, speaking calmly and _straight_ into the distracting, never-ending stream of camera flashes.

Isn’t that Jane Foster’s former partner in Prism Dynamics? The one whom she hasn’t stopped talking about since-

Hell.

Lifting her phone as high as her short arms will allow her, Darcy snaps a photo of Loki Laufeyson.

There’s going to be lots to talk about when she meets Jane later.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Saturday, September 18, 2004, 2200 hrs**  
**Outside of Harvard University  
** **Cambridge, Massachusetts**

Why had she let her roommate talk her into this?

Jane climbs the steps to the house—no, mansion—with a groan. Heavy bass music thumps inside while some party-goers loiter outside around the marble pillars, holding red solo cups while they debate political topics and science theories. There’s a small consolation in that, at least. Chances are pretty slim that someone would be streaking down the street with a lampshade on his head by the end of the night. Unlike the frat parties from her undergrad days.

But it’s still not her scene. Not when she could be grabbing some telescope time at the HCO.

“Oh, no,” Mandy says next to her. “I know that look. You are not backing out of this.”

“But—”

Mandy holds up a hand. “No buts. Monday I’m a teaching fellow and you’re a lowly research assistant. For the rest of the year, we’ll be up to our eyeballs in coursework and _work_ work. Tonight is the last night of debauchery for nine months, and you’re not going to spend it cataloguing quasars or whatever the hell the phantom of the physics department does.”

Jane rolls her eyes. “Fine. But if you pass out, I’m leaving you where you fall.”

“If it’s in the arms of a hot post-doc, then that’s just fine by me.” Mandy flashes a wide grin as she slips inside.

The dimly lit house is crowded, not overly so, with people dancing, drinking, laughing, talking. Jane recognizes a few from the physics department, but the rest of the guests are unfamiliar to her.

Mandy drags Jane to the kitchen, the epicenter of liquor. “Drink up,” Mandy says, pressing a plastic cup into Jane’s hand. “Socialize. And no debating wormhole theory while you’re here. For one night, you are simply a smarter-than-average party girl.”

Before Jane can utter a word in protest, Mandy is gone, chasing after some friend who called her name. Jane stares at her cup, nose scrunching at the frothy beer as if it, too, was making her night miserable. With a sigh, she looks around the room in hopes of finding someone she knows. The kitchen is ridiculously huge—the kind that would be featured in Architectural Digest with marbled countertops and dark mahogany cabinets. Who is throwing this party again? Jane can’t remember; she wasn’t really listening when Mandy told her. 

Wandering out of the kitchen, Jane stays on the periphery of the excitement like some anthropologist taking notes on the social and mating practices of the modern graduate student. She’s drawn into conversations here and there, but ends up fading back into the shadows when the topics change to something she’s not as interested in. The party gets louder the more alcohol is consumed, and still holding her untouched drink, Jane gravitates toward a quiet wing of the mansion.

Despite the colonial exterior of the building, the interior is modern with sparse furniture and large pieces of abstract art adorning the walls. Rather than looking empty and cold, the design spoke of someone with great wealth and refined taste. Jane likes it, even if she feels mildly intimidated. For a moment, she wishes she put more effort in her appearance instead of a clean t-shirt and a little mascara.

But then, she isn’t all that interested in making an impression outside of her academic field. Science has always been and will ever be the best friend and lover she’s ever had.

She travels down a darkened hallway, farther away from the party. At the end, an ornate door hangs half open, and she pauses to examine the craftsmanship. The intricate carvings remind her of photos she’s seen of the Sistine chapel—only the theology on display here isn’t Christian. Norse, she thinks, recognizing a figure wielding lightning with a hammer. There are a hundred stories in the woodwork, and she could study them all. But curiosity gets the better of her. What kind of room does this door guard?

The room is dark, and it takes her a minute to find a switch. What she sees when the light comes up takes her breath away. It’s a library, at least a quarter the size of the house with books from floor to vaulted ceiling. The plush leather armchairs and small tables have an aged feel. If the door has a hundred stories to tell, this room has a thousand more.

“Wow,” she whispers as she sets down her drink and peruses the titles—at least those she can see without a ladder. There are books on philosophy, science, religion. Some are thick, leather-bound tomes she is certain are early editions. There are fiction novels, classic and modern. She could spend a year in this library and still not read a tenth of the books in here.

She comes across an open display case in the back corner. In it is a huge book, antique with cracked leather and yellowed pages. It’s open somewhere in the middle, the text handwritten in some ancient language. The runes are sharp and geometric, and unconsciously, Jane reaches out to turn the page.

Another hand stops hers, and she jumps, swallowing back a scream.

The long, slender fingers over hers belong to a man just a few years older than her. He’s tall— _very_ tall—with shining black hair curling at the nape of his neck. His large pale eyes are striking as he gazes down at her. An involuntary blush creeps across her cheeks.

“Hasn’t anyone told you that it’s impolite to touch other people’s possessions?” he says in a crisp British accent.

Jane’s blush deepens. “I’m sorry. It’s so beautiful, and I—”

“Should you even be here?” he asks, cutting her off. He’s still holding her hand.

Flustered, she gestures toward the door. “It was open, and I didn’t the library was off—”

“No,” he says, interrupting her again as he looks her over. “I meant, should you be at this gathering at all? It’s intended for _adults_.”

It takes Jane a second to process what he’s implying, and she’s a little offended when she does. “I _am_ an adult. I’m a graduate student—not that it’s any of your business.”

He drops her hand, smirking as though he doesn’t believe her. “It is my business when I could be cited for giving alcohol to a minor—no matter how ridiculous I think the drinking laws are in the States.”

Jane glares at him, though a part of her knows that she does look younger than she is. She always has. “So, what? You need to see my ID?” she returns in clipped tones born more from embarrassment than anger. She yanks out her wallet from her back pocket and shows him both her driver’s license and student ID. “There. Happy?”

He takes them from her, studies them with a furrowed brow as if trying to determine their veracity. Jane is growing frustrated. Very frustrated. Is he going to ask for a certified copy of her birth certificate next?

“You’re still young for a doctorate candidate.” He hands her back her cards. “What are you reading?”

She blinks at him in confusion. Is he referring to the books on her nightstand or—

“Jane!” Mandy steps into the library, relief plain her face. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! I—” She stops short when she notices Jane’s companion. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” Jane says the same time Mystery Man says, “Yes.”

Jane shakes her head and repeats in a firm voice, “ _No_. I was just leaving.” She shoves her wallet back into her pocket.

Mandy frowns, opens her mouth, but then closes it as she looks at the guy— _really_ looks at him for the first time. “Hi,” she says to him with a dimpled smile, holding out her hand. “Amanda Johnson, and you are?”

His eyes roam from Mandy’s face down to her legs in a languid, appreciative sweep, and Jane decides right then and that she doesn’t like him. Not that she can blame him, not really. If a Victoria’s Secret model and an academic genius had a baby, Mandy would be it. And she has perfected the balance of drawing men in with her beauty and then making them respect her for her brain. Jane has never been bothered by this before, content to leave the dating world to her roommate—especially after Donald. Why should she care if this guy she doesn’t even know is just like the others?

“I’m the host of this party,” he says, taking Mandy’s hand and kissing the tops of her fingers. “Loki Laufeyson.”

Mandy titters, clearly activating her powers of flirtation. “Loki like the God of Mischief?”

“The one and the same,” he returns with a wolfish grin. He has a dimple, too. Great. They can get married and have tall, unfairly beautiful, dimpled children together.

Mandy laughs again, and the library feels suddenly too small for three people. This is Jane’s cue to bow out. She clears her throat and jabs a thumb over her shoulder, backing away. “I’m just going to…uh, yeah.”

“Oh, no!” Mandy exclaims as if suddenly remembering Jane’s existence. “No, I was looking for you! Mike’s getting a round of Drunk Science going, and I need you on my team.

Jane shakes her head. “I don’t—”

“Please, please, please, _please_!” Mandy clasps her hands. “You’re the reigning champion. If you don’t play, we’ll lose and I’ll end up passed out in my own vomit.”

Jane sighs, rolling her eyes heavenward. She hoped to avoid a hangover, but Mandy would be relentless if Jane turned her down. “Fine.” She was so going to regret this later.

“Yay!” Mandy links her arm with Jane’s and ushers her toward the door. “I knew I could talk you into it.” As an afterthought, she says to Loki, “Great party, by the way. It was nice meeting you.” 

“I’ll join you,” he replies. “I can’t pass up the opportunity to witness the so-called reigning champion in action.”

“Oh, she’s the best!” Mandy says with a gentle pat on Loki’s arm as they amble toward wherever it is the game is happening. “I mean, she can’t hold her liquor worth a damn, being as tiny as she is—”

“Thanks,” Jane interjects sarcastically.

“—but even completely wasted, she’s still better at science than anyone I know. Seriously, you don’t want to play against her.”

Loki gives Jane a sidelong glance. “Is that so?” His expression grates on Jane, that smirk that says he’ll believe it when he sees it.

“Very so,” Jane answers with more confidence than she feels.

They reach the formal dining room where a crowd is gathering. Three shot glasses are set up at each end of the table, and Jane is relieved that the teams will be smaller. The last time she played, there were five on each team, and she nearly passed out before she could give the winning answer.

“I think I’ll take you up on that challenge,” Loki says in a low voice. He gives Jane a broad grin before heading toward the opposing team.

Mandy’s gaze follows him. “Hot, rich, _and_ intelligent. I like it.”

“Well,” Jane says, casting a glance at the dark-haired man, “’intelligent’ remains to be seen.”

Mandy laughs and the pair settle on their side. Mandy gives a brief introduction to the third team member—Haru, a post doc who works in the same research group that Jane will be joining on Monday. Between impressing a fellow researcher and wiping that smug expression off of Loki’s face, Jane is feeling more than a little jittery about this game.

“Welcome, one and all!” Mike, a large man in both height and girth, holds up his arms, silencing the group in the dining hall. Jane knew him from her undergrad days, and she was always in awe of his ability to ace his exams despite being a raging partier. “Welcome to Drunk Science: Physics Edition—the game where the more hammered you are, the less sense your science makes. For the plebeians who don’t know the rules, allow me to elucidate.”

He waves a stack of notecards. “Each team member takes a turn answering a question that I, your loveable and brilliant host, will pose. If that person answers correctly, the other team has to take a shot. If that person answers incorrectly, then their team takes the shot—and that eliminated from the game.” Mike points to an emo-looking guy in the corner of the room, balancing a laptop on his knees. “That’s Jason, our designated fact-checker and dispute-settler. He’s also a designated driver, if you need a ride home later.”

Mike nods to a gal holding a bottle of Jägermeister—not tequila, thank goodness. She fills all the shot glasses and steps back as Mike says, “And now, to start things off right, everyone will take a shot. Can’t play this game completely sober, folks!”

Across the table, Loki holds up his glass in salute to Jane before downing it. She swallows down her shot, hoping the alcohol will quell some of her sudden performance anxiety.

“You did eat something before we came, right?” Mandy whispers.

Jane nods. Even though she hadn’t planned on drinking much, she is very aware of how easily inebriated she becomes—the curse of being so petite. Over the years, she’s learned all the tricks to staving off the effects of alcohol. Consuming a half of a loaf of bread before a party isn’t exactly fun, but it makes a difference.

“Let us commence!” Mike shouts as his assistant refills the shot glasses.

Several drinks and answers—both surprisingly correct and hilariously wrong—later, it’s down to Haru and Jane versus Loki. She’s grudgingly impressed that he’s been able to hold his own with the increasingly difficult trivia, and she wonders if he’s a graduate student.

Haru goes down with a question about the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, and there’s a nervous flutter in Jane’s middle as she knocks back a shot. She’s definitely feeling the alcohol in her veins and hopes she has enough functioning brain cells left to keep her title.

“Well, well, well, ladies and gents, it’s mano-a-mano!” Mike says. “Here enters the new rule of the game: the challenge. If a player gets the question wrong, he or she can challenge the enemy to answer the same question. If the challenge-ee answers incorrectly, he or she must drink a shot and the game continues. If, however, the challenge-ee answers correctly, he or she is crowned the winner!”

He pulls out a card from the back of the deck. “Mr. Laufeyson, our generous benefactor, your question is thus: The subcategory of Unified Field Theory in which the black hole entropy prediction is viewed as its greatest success?”

Loki is silent for several heartbeats before answering, “Quantum Gravity.”

Jane’s heart leaps as Mike cringes. “Oh, sorry. Wrong answer. Do you—”

“Challenge,” Loki says over Mike. “I challenge Miss Foster.”

All eyes turn to Jane, and her mind is suddenly blank. The liquor has finally erased all of her scientific knowledge, it seems, as she grasps desperately for an answer. She knows this, dammit! _Come on, come on, come on_.

“ _Loop_ Quantum Gravity?” she blurts out, praying that her fuzzy brain gave her the right answer.

“Correct!” Mike says as the crowd erupts in cheers. “Jane Foster is our Drunk Science Champion yet again!”

Jane is yanked into a tight embrace by her teammates as others clap her on her back. She laughs as Mandy peppers her with compliments on her genius.

“I totally thought it was String Theory,” she says. “Thank God I was already out of the game!”

Several people offer their congratulations to Jane as they move onto other activities. She feels vindicated as Loki steps up to her, the two of them now alone in the room. “Still think I’m just a teenager who snuck into the party.”

He bows his head, long fingers splayed against his chest. “Well played. I look forward to a rematch sometime.” There’s a spark of something in his smile—a promise that gives birth to a thousand butterflies in her stomach.

“Yeah, well,” she says, “if you don’t mind losing again.”

He smirks. “We’ll see about that. A truce for now?” He holds out a hand, and she hesitates a breath before taking it. He doesn’t shake, but brings it to his lips instead. The kiss seems to linger a little too long, but she thinks that might be the Jäger screwing with her perception. Is he _really_ staring at her as if she’s an enigma he wants to explore in detail?

“Dance with me.” He sandwiches her hand between both of his and backs toward the sprawling living room, gently tugging her to follow. When she resists, he says, “You deserve to celebrate your victory. Celebrate it with me.”

Just an hour ago, he thought she was underage and was ready to kick her out of the party. This change is disconcerting…he grins at her and she loses her train of thought. He’s so pretty, and he wants to dance with her. Why in the world is she even thinking of turning him down?

“Okay.”

She doesn’t recall the short journey from the dining room to where the music is. She’s only vaguely aware of the thumping bass of _Hey Yeah_ by Outkast as she does her best to move to the beat. Lost to the heady ambiance of music and alcohol, she doesn’t mind when Loki presses up against her back and hooks his fingers in her belt loops. She leans into him, closing her eyes as she rests her head against his chest. She doesn’t know the song that’s playing now, but it’s slower, more sensual.

Loki spins her around to face him. The room seems devoid of all others as he gazes down at her with frightening intensity. And then his hand is tangled in her hair as he presses his lips over hers. The first brush is a tentative exploration, but when she rises to her toes, ringing her arms around his neck, he crushes her to him, devours her. She returns the kiss with equal fervor, running her fingers up the base of his neck, earning a soft moan from him.

“I thought…” she says breathlessly when they break for air. “I thought you wanted Mandy.”

“I believe I just made what I want abundantly clear.”

It’s the last thing he says before kissing her again, before slipping his fingers between the jersey fabric of her shirt and her bare skin, sending a thrill down her middle. Before taking her hand and leading her up, up, up a spiraling staircase to his room. 

He twists her around until her back is against the heavy door and with a quiet click, the door’s unlatched by a deft movement of his right hand. With the reassuring support of the thick mahogany wood suddenly gone, Jane stumbles in, breaking their heated kiss, but is immediately pulled flushed against him and back into the tight circle of his arms around her.

Nothing but darkness greets her.

The ringing silence after the whirring sounds of the party is disorienting but he’s barely giving her any time to consider much else other than his wandering fingers that are inching lower to a place that’s making her want much, much more.

In fact, there’s actually _a lot_ to consider seeing how safe she always plays it – should she even be in a room with a relative stranger on the verge of drunk, rebound sex? STDs and protection – even with no strings attached and the fact that there was always the risk of-

“Clumsy much?” Loki teases with a voice that has acquired a whisky-rough edge.

“Uh, no…” she manages to stammer out, feeling the awkwardness return. Sure, he’s hot, charismatic and from the looks of it, knows all the right moves to make in order to ensure her capitulation.

And she’s more than halfway there, if she’s honest.

But Loki doesn’t allow her even that inch of breathing space as his lips eagerly find hers again, blotting out all good sense and every niggling reservation that she has. Instinctively, Jane knows he isn’t one to ask in a gentlemanly fashion if this is really what she wants. Other men would have gently offered her an out several minutes ago, but not Loki.

The kiss during their dance had been her unspoken consent; hell, their drinking game probably counted as much as foreplay to _this_ foreplay.

But she’s not sure if she wants an out at this point. And if the alcohol is making her bold, then more power to it.

Screw it, Jane thinks hazily as she tightens her arms around his neck and brushes tentative fingers through his hair. Maybe it’s time to live a little more. Time to…expand her social horizons beyond physics classmates and stupid science games and… more physics-related stuff.

Put that way, she wonders when her life had become so boring.

For once, it’s more than flattering to be the recipient of another hot man’s attentions when their eyes had only always been on Mandy. Hadn’t Mandy said anyway, that it’d be good to fall into the arms of someone else who isn’t Donald Blake, or something that sounded like that? No strings attached – that should sound good, shouldn’t it? There’ll be nothing deep, no heartfelt confessions, no awkward morning-after conversations. Besides, she has always harboured half a fantasy about bad boys and Loki Laufeyson seems to be dwelling permanently at this end of the spectrum. What’s more, he’s right here, wanting exactly the same thing she wants, delivered straight to her on a silver platter.

So what was wrong with giving into a little healthy bout of lust?

With this thought firmly planted in her mind before it’s whisked away by the feel of his hands moving up and down her back, Jane decides that Loki will be a notch on her bedpost just as she’ll be just another on his – as difficult as it might be later.

He’s backing her onto a surprisingly soft mattress, covering her with his body as his mouth follows his fingers as they roll the material of her shirt upwards. She finds that her own hands are moving of their own accord, needing to find bare skin to touch. It’s not long before he realises what she wants and with a hoarse chuckles against her mouth, he obliges her, undoing the buttons on his own shirt, then hisses when her questing fingers stroke the sparse trail of hair that begins from his chest and disappears past the waistband of his pants.

She surprises even herself when she shrugs off her shirt completely, then gasps when his mouth descends on the peaks of her breast through her bra as he yanks at the buttons of her jeans and pulls the worn denim easily down her hips until she’s all but lying in her plain underwear before him.

Loki shifts slightly and then the bedside lamp flicks on with an orange glare that makes her squint in sudden shock. When her eyes manage to focus on him again, she sees that he’s smirking darkly, his head positioned so that he’s hovering just above her thighs. Modesty wars with desire as she struggles to hold his predatory gaze, but there isn’t even space for such consideration when he dips his head and moves aside the fabric of her cotton underwear with his teeth.

The first sweep of his tongue against her sensitised skin makes her buck hard.

But he isn’t done. “I want to see your face as you scream your pleasure as I take you over the edge with my mouth. And then I will do it again and again with my body over yours, with me in you,” he whispers harshly against her skin. “Until we’re both conscious of nothing but each other.”

His words alone – she’ll name him Silvertongue when coherence returns – are making her shiver. Heat is pooling deep in her belly from an equal amount of desire and embarrassment and Jane’s sure that she’s as beet-red as she is wet for him.

But it doesn’t stop her from baiting him anyway. “Is that a bet?”

“No,” he tells her with a lazy smile, “it’s a promise.” As though sensing her lingering reservations, he continues, “We’re covered. Now enjoy yourself.”

With his tongue drawing unspeakable patterns on slick flesh, it doesn’t take her long to scream his name. True to his word, he’s watching every nuance, every crease in her face, every detail with a ravenous hunger that ignites her own.

But he isn’t stopping and with his movements, time is distorting into a nothing but a well of pleasure, an eternal moment that’s shaped only of them, by them. His fingers are invading her, curling within her in a way that makes her toes dig painfully into the bed and still, he’s relentless in his assault, finally stopping only when she begs him to do so.

She forgets how many times she gasps and screams for him, but she’s sure he’s keeping count.

When he finally pushes inside her, the sheer relief from steady, throbbing ache makes Jane sigh her approval into his mouth. Yet his first strokes are languid and practised with none of her urgent thrusting that she expects. Arching more deeply into him, she grips his straining biceps as he refuses to comply with her wordless demands to speed up. Mounting frustration makes her push insistently at his shoulders, taking advantage of his surprise to flip him over onto his back.

“Clever girl,” Loki grates out, stretching out an arm to curl it around her neck, pulling her forward hard so that their lips touch again.

She throws him a small grin and moves back up the length of his body a little, propping her hands on both sides of his head as she lowers herself onto him and takes his entire length in a single, smooth movement. “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”

“I can’t be doing my job too well, if you’re still speaking in metaphors and analogies. I promised you that you would scream for me and I intend to keep that promise.”

He lifts his head, moves a finger down her pubic bone and runs butterfly kisses down her breasts at the same time and damn him, she’s losing her rhythm to the beguiling play of his fingers along her slit as her vision goes blurry at the edges once more when she feels the telltale coil of tension spreading from the base of her spine and stomach.

“Not fair,” she gasps when she regains enough breath to speak.

A sinful smile is all she gets. “What do you want, Jane?”

She knows what she wants. Him, taking her hard and fast. And there’s no way she thinks she’ll ever be able to say it.

But then… _what’s good for the goose…_

Two can play this game, she determines.

Sitting up, Jane moves her hips experimentally, working through the numerous aftershocks of pleasure as she grinds down onto him until his harsh groan echoes in the stillness of the room. For good measure, she repeats the exact movement several times, waiting to see what it does to him.

He’s watching her with a tight, feral stare, his chest rising and falling with his ragged breaths.

“Like what you see? What do you want, Loki?” She taunts playfully but her smug look of triumph is replaced by an open-mouthed gasp when he holds her hips with a bruising grip and thrusts upwards, taking control again of their coupling.

She lets him move and this time, Jane finally gets what she wants when his strokes turn hard and deep. Every rough, upward thrust sends her arching more and more into him as her hair spills over her shoulders and onto his chest with each movement. But then Loki sits up suddenly and with a nimble motion, turns her until her upper back is supported by the headboard. Her whimper of protest is silenced when he pulls her unsteadily onto his lap and positions her so that he can sheath himself within her again. Any prior gentleness is washed away by unsated need as he steadily rebuilds a rhythm that was momentarily lost in the shift of positions. There’s however, less coordination in his usual, graceful movements and it pleases her to no end to see that he’s at least affected by this as much as she is.

It takes little to stir the burning embers once more and there’s nothing Jane can do but hold on as he subtly changes the angle and depth of his thrusts so that he’s hitting her in all the right places. Guided by instincts that are clamouring once more for release, she matches his thrusts as best as she can, hurtling along the narrow, upward path of pleasure that he’s created for the both of them. On and on he leads until their hips are bucking hard into each other’s and their moans fill the musky air, only that this time, Jane knows he’s taking her down with him.

Just as she thinks there’s no more she can give, he moves his fingers deftly over her dripping, overwrought flesh, forcing to face her own building climax head-on.

Then he tips her over the precipice for the last time.

She freefalls the way she imagines a star going supernova, all bright and glorious and unstoppable. Dimly, she hears his strangled groan echo hers, and before she knows what’s happening, he’s lowering them both onto the sweat-dampened sheets as their breathing slowly evens out.

She’s drifting already into the delicious oblivion that only the aftermath of pleasure can give, but her stubborn brain is only choosing to kick in now, asking the very questions that she hadn’t wanted to entertain earlier. Should she stay, or should she go? Her clothes are in a tangle somewhere in the room and hell, it’d be more than awkward to get up to dress and say…what?

_Thanks, it was a great shag. Just what I needed as a stress-reliever. You’re hot…shall we do this sometime again?_

Jane goes through several permutations of the same message, grimacing at how contrived it sounds. Whoever said post-coital conversations were relaxing, tension-free could go take a vacation in a black hole for all she cared. This is as unglamorous and awkward as it can get. This is no Hollywood, despite what it initially seemed and-

 “Stop. Whatever it is you’re thinking.” Loki’s clearly enunciated words interrupt her fourth attempt at rationalising what just happened. Her breath hitches as his arms wind around her waist from behind. “That can wait for the morning.”

Part of her wants to protest; another gladly accepts his proposition. Besides, he had really worn her out deliciously and if the night is helping to preserve that bubble of intimacy a little longer, she has absolutely no problems with it.

In the end, Jane gives into the latter without much resistance, figuring that it can really wait for the morning.

The last she thinks hears before she’s out is her name that he whispers in her ear.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Wednesday, September 22, 2004, 1300 hrs**  
**Harvard University  
** **Cambridge, Massachusetts**

This set of equations is tiresome.

No, scratch the first part of that, Jane thinks. _Physics_ , on days like this, is tiresome. Especially today.

No matter how much she tries to wind the variables around, they aren’t falling into place as they’re supposed to. She writes the same set out two more times only to be met with the same roadblock when the numbers refuse to tally.

“Not again.” She throws a baleful stare at her steadily-worsening handwriting that would have long sent her writing teachers into fits. “Work, come on.”

With a noisy exhale, Jane picks up the whiteboard duster, erases a good portion of her calculations and begins again. And she’s just getting to the good part when the marker conveniently runs out of ink.

“Dammit! Not now!”

The whiteboard marker flies across the room as Mandy opens the door to the students’ lounge dubbed ‘Selvig’s watering hole’. Unfortunately, the little projectile hits her roommate straight on the head and bounces off in a perfect arc to roll harmlessly back to Jane’s feet.

“Ow! Shit!” Mandy howls in indignation and claps a hand over her forehead.

Jane cringes as she bends to pick up the useless object and aims for the bin this time. It hits the bottom unerringly with a loud clang. “Oops, sorry. Ran out of ink halfway.”

“And you’re throwing a tantrum because of that?” Mandy asks incredulously as she rubs at the sore spot, gingerly stepping around the papers and files that haphazardly litter the floor. “You’re too young to be getting violent with non-animated objects, girl.”

“I was just getting to the good part of this proof,” Jane defends as she rummages through her pencil case for a new marker. “So forgive me for that little show of emotion.”

“Only you will use the phrase ‘getting to the good part’ in the same sentence as a physics equation. Speaking of _good parts_ ,” Mandy trails off with a meaningful look, “what’s up with you anyway?”

There’s just enough curiosity in her roommate’s voice that usually doesn’t bother her at all. Today, it just rubs her the wrong way. “Sorry,” she says as politely as she can manage, “I know I’ve been somewhat distracted-”

“Distracted?” Her roommate snorts and wanders over to the coffee machine. “You’re like a bear announcing your injured paw to the whole world. And if you haven’t known already, your sour mood is gaining legendary status by the day. Do I need to remind you that fit you threw when the printer failed to print managed to scare the post-doc fellows away from the watering hole?”

“All the more space for us, then,” she says sullenly.

“Lighten up, girl. It’s such a great day.”

She snorts. “Yeah, only those who are deep in infatuation can say that.”

“My, cynical, aren’t we?”

The coffee machine starts up, carrying the unmistakable top notes of citrus fruit and blackcurrant layered over the tangy acidity of freshly-brewed ground Kenyan coffee beans permeates the place, making Jane’s mouth water.

Mandy ambles over with two mugs filled to the brim of the heavenly liquid a minute later and Jane lunges for one. She takes a long sip and sighs in appreciation, wondering absently whose good taste she should thank for putting such heavenly brews in Selvig’s watering hole.

“So tell momma all your troubles, honey.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It can’t be nothing when you’re going around snapping at everyone in the research group.”

“Is there a point to all this?”

But Mandy isn’t easily shaken off. “Remember that cute redhead John Walters whom I said had a thing for you? Well, you’ve probably scared him off permanently with your glares.”

Jane drains the last of her coffee and looks longingly at the machine in the corner, sternly reminding herself that an extra dose of caffeine is more likely going to poison her than keep her awake. “The point?”

“The point is, you’re scaring potential suitors off.”

“Do I look like I care right now?”

“Jane, after Donald, you moped around for ages. I was getting worried that you weren’t ever going to crawl out of your shell again and at least get some rebound sex.”

It takes a few seconds for the familiar name to sink in. Right, Donald Blake. So all it had taken was a night of brilliant sex with Loki Laufeyson to make Donald a fringe memory?

Damn, that was therapy if nothing else. But rebound sex? That’s exactly the problem she’s having right now.

“I’m pretty happy with my life if you haven’t noticed,” Jane grouses. “And thanks for asking by the way.”

“You’re welcome. Actually, I’ve been trying to figure out what the hell’s been rubbing you the wrong way. Or rather, _who_ has been rubbing you the wrong way.”

Okay, now she _really_ doesn’t want to talk about this. Jane turns back to the whiteboard as she squiggles more equations on the whiteboard. “Didn’t I already say nothing and no one?”

“Yeah, I believe that.”

She’s tired of this. Tired of shrugging off the speculative looks that she’s been getting down the corridors and tired of feeling the way she shouldn’t be feeling after that one-nighter with Loki, having already exhausted her short list of expletives cursing the day she met him.

“Believe it,” she snaps, trying to turn her attention to her files and hoping that Mandy gets the hint.

But her irrepressible roommate simply pulls up a chair and wedges herself in the tiny space between her files and the whiteboard.

“Hey! I’m working here,” Jane protests.

Mandy isn’t deterred. “You know, girl, I’ve been thinking.”

“Uh huh.”

“You’ve not been this way since…Saturday. And if I’m guessing correctly, I think this has to do with a certain, hot specimen with a funky, Vikingish, Norse name and black, flowing hair-”

Jane makes a show of rolling her eyes. “If college doesn’t work out for you, maybe a career in television might.”

“This isn’t about me,” Mandy says slyly. “So stop changing the topic. What happened?”

Sighing, Jane glares at her. Gossip can be ruinous in this part of the campus and she isn’t about to give into the urge to talk about her frazzled nerves. As much as she likes her roommate, telling anything that’s scoop-worthy to Mandy is akin to spreading the wild bush fires across acres of land within minutes.

“Nothing happened.”

“That’s impossible,” Mandy tells her confidently, “You don’t spend time with Loki Laufeyson and come out with nothing.”

Except that that’s pretty much the truth, Jane thinks. “Well, ask him yourself if you don’t believe me. We played Drunk Science, we danced a bit and I came back later with a pounding headache thanks to the alcohol I’d drunk,” Jane insists and shrugs once at the look of growing disbelief on Mandy’s face. “I’ve not left my telescope and books ever since.”

Well, it’s technically the truth. Sort of. She’s only leaving out that vital bit about just _how_ _much_ later she returned, thankful that she came back to an empty apartment on Sunday morning after stumbling out of Laufeyson’s large, comfortable bed.

Mandy walks over to the coffee machine and makes herself yet another cup of coffee. “And here I’d hoped that the party would have loosened you up a bit.”

Jane gives her a small smile from across the room. “You know me. I can’t leave my books for too long.”

“And that temper tantrum was because-”

“Because I couldn’t solve a particular problem since Sunday,” she reiterates firmly and gestures vaguely to her files, leaving the exact nature of the problem unsaid. Would it be too much to hope that Mandy will mistakenly assume that it’s all about theoretical astrophysics and homework and nothing to do with-

“If you say so,” Mandy says, but her doubt is obvious.

But whether her roommate had bought that hook, line and sinker, Jane doesn’t exactly care right now. “Anyway, I’ve got to finish this, you know. I did tell you that I was in the middle of refining my proposal about the possibility of building a wormhole generator by confining exotic matter to narrow regions in order to form the edges of three-dimensional space like a cube and-”

“Yup. I get the picture,” Mandy smirks and hops up from the chair. “I know when I’m not wanted. But I also know that’s not the whole story you’re telling. Don’t think I’m letting you off that easy.”

Sighing inwardly in relief, Jane flicks her a small wave and turns back to the half-finished mess on the whiteboard, willing herself to focus on what’s in front of her.

Whatever happened on Saturday night is best remembered as a lapse in self-control resulting in a night of great sex and nothing more.

oOo

**Friday, September 24, 2004, 0905 hrs**  
**Harvard University  
** **Cambridge, Massachusetts**

It turns out that the act of wanting to forget is always easier said than done. And her present predicament is living proof of why reality always turns out contrary to what she always expects.

Jane’s painfully aware that she’s standing in open-mouthed shock, facing the very person she swore never to meet again. And if he thought her outfit was bad on Saturday, today’s getup is guaranteed to make him think that she’s actually something the cat brought in.

That she’s not looking her best after countless hours alternating between thinking about equations and agonising over their morning after conversation is an understatement. A sudden gust of wind has left a leaf or two stuck in her stupid hair and because it happens all the time, she never really bothers to pick them out until she makes a trip to the bathroom. His hair, on the other hand, is perfectly tied up in a ponytail and probably deliberately styled so that it stays looking like it’s _both_ messy and alluring. There’re dark circles under her eyes thanks to the late night she pulled trying to work out those damned equations and her face is splotchy (his is porcelain pale and flawless) after that short run into campus.

Obviously whatever greater power that exists out there is making sure that Loki Laufeyson just had to be perfectly groomed in contrast.

But why would he be _here_ unless he is a grad student or…a research assistant like her? And what on earth is he doing with Erik Selvig?

“Jane?”

She snaps out of her temporary funk to see Erik’s concerned face and another pair of green eyes studying her with amusement. Inwardly cursing whatever act of god arranged this coincidence, Jane plasters a nonchalant look on her face as she weakly waves a folder in front of her father’s old friend.

“Hey, Erik! Sorry I’m late,” she greets, slides a surreptitious glance at _him_ and looks back at Erik again. “I’m interrupting something here.”

“No, that’s alright, Jane.”

There’s bright enthusiasm on her mentor’s face that’s making her a little uneasy. “I did make an appointment with you to discuss my proposal but since you’re busy-”

“No, not at all busy. This discussion-” Erik gestures between him and Loki with a wagging finger, “-actually wasn’t planned at all. Come in, take a seat,” he says and pulls up a chair for her, then backpedals. “Oh, but before I forget my manners, this is Loki Lau-”

The rush of sudden, inexplicable panic is a roar in her ears that blots out Erik’s attempt at introducing the both of them.

“We’ve met,” Loki interjects smoothly. He sounds disinterested, almost detached. She snaps startled eyes to his, but they’re showing nothing but practised politeness and just the right amount of friendly curiosity so that anyone who’s watching this meeting would think it’s a superficial meet-and-greet.

“Oh, have you? That’s great, then. Like you, Loki, Jane is as brilliant as they come,” Erik says a little too happily and gestures to her, oblivious to the growing tension in the room and seemingly hell-bent on extolling her every virtue. “Do you know what she has actually skipped more grades than most people I’ve known. And believe me,” he says, throwing a conspiratorial look at Loki, “I’ve known quite a few. Both students and…well, never mind.”

Jane winces in mortification. While it’s nice to know someone familiar, someone who had been a friend of her father, to help her through the winding and sometimes vicious tracks of academia, Erik has a penchant for saying – no, _babbling_ – the wrong thing at the wrong time when he gets excited.

And _this_ …this is precisely one of those instances. The last thing she needs is for matters to get more awkward than they already are on a day when her head is fuzzy from the lack of sleep. Time to make an exit and forget about even making it a graceful one.

“Erik, I could always, uh, you know…” she waves a hand in the direction of the door, “…come back later when you’re free?”

Erik clucks his tongue once. “Nonsense. Loki and I were just discussing his latest project in quantum entanglement.”

So Laufeyson’s a fellow graduate student then. Only after a petty part of her rejoices again at having beaten him at Drunk Science does it dawn on her that he’s involved in one of the most notoriously difficult highly contested field in a branch of physics that could, in their lifetime, remain as fanciful hypotheses that can only be brought to life in science-fiction movies.

“Quantum entanglement?” She repeats the phrase, intrigued despite herself.

“Don’t sound so surprised, Jane,” Erik teases with an indulgent smile. “I do have people with groundbreaking research interests.”

“What exactly about quantum entanglement?” Jane blurts out, her own proposal momentarily forgotten.

Erik glances at Loki, who in turn throws her a speculative look. “It’s great news. I’d share it,” Erik says.

Loki relents, his unnerving gaze settling on hers as he speaks. “We’ve looking into the preservation of a shared, entangled state between particles over a great distance using chip-based superconducting circuit architecture. With controlled pulses of microwave-photons to link the circuits and their properties to one another, we’ve managed to minimise photon loss during the qubit transfer of information between sender and receiver.”

“Controlled pulses of microwave-photons to link the circuits and their properties to one another…” Jane echoes his words as realisation dawns in the next second. “Oh my god, you’re talking about teleportation.”

“ _Quantum_ teleportation,” he corrects her dryly. “We’re simply dealing with the state of two quantum bits that share correlations. I assure you, we’re quite a way off yet in our ability to beam you off this planet and onto the moon.”

Still, it’s impressive, even if the project is still in its infancy. If he succeeds in developing teleportation technology…god knows who’ll come beating down his door on bended knee. Suddenly, she understands Erik’s excitement.

“Yeah, it’s great news alright,” her mentor chips in, then turns to her. “Well, I’m hoping you have some good news of your own. You did say something about wanting to exploring the Einstein-Rosen bridge in your email, didn’t you?”

Crap.

What she’d wanted to say now sounds incredibly untried and naïve in the wake of Loki’s research success.

“Uh, you know, that can wait,” she hurriedly puts in before embarrassment makes her more say things she wouldn’t normally say. “I could always come back later since you’re busy and all.”

“Not at all, Jane,” Erik says dismissively. “We’re pretty much done here and-”

“Actually, I’m incredibly keen myself to listen to anything related to wormholes,” Loki announces without preamble.

Damn him, she thinks. What’s more awkward than bumping into a (hot) man a few days after you left in a huff? Facing him in front of your mentor and pitting your wits against his.

“I’d like to work on a long-term project that eventually culminates in the creation of a wormhole generator,” she says baldly, then amends, “or at least tries to.”

Her bold statement is met with silence.

Erik’s the first to break it. “Jane, I-”

“It’s a great idea, I promise,” she rushes on, “In fact, I’d like to spearhead the project if you think it’s good to go.”

Erik sighs apologetically, “You’ve got great ideas, Jane. But I’m going to be honest here. I might have to pour cold water on this project before it even gets off the ground.”

Jane can’t believe her ears. That’s all she’s getting after weeks of agonising over sets of equations and sleepless nights of proposal drafts? “What? Why?”

Erik sighs again. “I’ve just spoken to Kenneth Marrie.”

“The dean of the faculty?”

“I expected that you’d want to branch out from what you’re doing at present and your email seemed to say as much. So I contacted him and clarified what’s within our budget and boundaries. And it isn’t too good,” Erik explains as a grimace twists his mouth. “Those are the rules around here, and we can’t bend them, not even for an exciting project such as yours. The fact remains, you’re a second-year research assistant and can’t spearhead a project. At least not yet. And there’s also the issue of funding, or rather, the lack of it. What you’re proposing is great, but there’s every chance that the faculty is going to consider this a fringe project that may or may not yield concrete results by the end of it.”

She recognises the well-patented academic roadblock immediately and the disappointment that seeps into her voice is unintentional but inevitable. “So no one even wants to give this project the light of day,” she says with a shake of her head, “Even though you admit that my theory on the Einstein-Rosen bridge are potentially viable.”

“But not economically sound, unfortunately, at this point in time,” a momentarily-forgotten baritone chimes in.

Jane whips around, suddenly remembering that Loki’s still there, looking suspiciously interested in the storm in a teacup that she’s steadily whipping up. “Yes, Loki, thank you for the reminder,” she retorts acidly.

He shrugs off her sarcasm and smirks. “I was merely stating what you refused to see.”

“Jane,” Erik says in a placating voice, “you could always try again in a year. Things will be very different then and you’ll actually find yourself in a far, better position to apply for grants.”

Loki cuts in again. “Do you have a proposal?”

She glares at him and waves a thick, green folder under his nose.

He stares at it for a moment and gives her a knowing look. “Nice colour.”

It’s not as though she hadn’t already noticed how well that particular shade of green seems to suit him. In fact, it’s the exact colour of his bedsheets-

“Argh!” Her loud, unexpected exclamation makes Erik jump.

“Uh, Jane? Are you feeling alright?”

She bites her lower lip in embarrassment and scrambles for the first excuse that comes to mind. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine, Erik. I, uh, think I just remembered that I left the windows open. You know, in case of rain,” she says lamely, then cringes when she turns to see bright, autumnal sunlight shafting through the window that’s too small to contain a brilliant blue sky.

“Indeed, the weather can be so unpredictable, can’t it?”

There’s a hint of laughter in Loki’s voice that’s makes Jane wonder why she bothered getting up this morning at all. She’s still rolling her eyes at that snarky rejoinder when he snatches the folder from her and thumbs through the first few pages of the proposal. Abruptly, he snaps it shut again and hands it back.

“That’s it?” Jane asks him indignantly. “Did you even read a word of it?”

Loki simply arches a brow at her waspish retort. “Your abstract says everything I needed to know.”

“And?” 

“…and?” He echoes her plainly, a small, mischievous grin threatening to stretch his lips. “And what?”

Impossible man.

Impossible, rude, arrogant, with a mile-wide competitive streak that she itches to take on. But she’d already known this, hasn’t she, in the worst, no, best way possible? The only problem that’s emerging here is the disturbing realisation that she wouldn’t have wanted a different outcome to Saturday’s drunken activities despite his obvious flaws.

“Well, then, tell me what it says,” she challenges and waits for him to fumble.

He doesn’t, to her infinite disappointment, but takes her bait anyway just as his grin widens to reveal a straight set of gleaming white teeth.

“You’ve correctly identified, from previous studies, that the inability to sustain the severe, extreme warping which is necessarily to maintain a connection between one point and another is the most outstanding problem in theoretical wormhole generation. And because wormhole formation isn’t random as previously thought, you believe that producing a real, resonant frequency to aid the distorting the spacetime curvature through the creation powerful surges of negative mass can not only create one, but also sustain it. Essentially, your long-term aim is to invent what appears to be a vortex generator that has the ability to generate negative mass and a negative spring constant, as two separate but electrically-connected coils of differing radii carry magnetic flux in opposite directions along their common centreline – enough so that it produces electric fields along it. Did I get that right?”

She blinks in disbelief. “You actually understood all of it? From the little that you’ve read?” And if he really _did_ understand it, well, damn him. Again.

His summary is succinct and unfairly cogent, rounding up her arguments from pages one to twenty in a paragraph that takes him merely half a minute to articulate as opposed to her entire weekend and half the week after to formulate. Frankly, if Jane’s going to be honest with herself, it’s amazing and not to mention, incredibly exciting that someone finally understands the complexities of her proposals-

“I’m somewhat familiar with the topic to begin with,” Loki concedes and throws her a mock-disapproving look. “Though it seems that there’re enough holes in your proposal that would put Swiss cheese to shame.”

Her small, tentative smile drops instantly.

Erik clears his throat, effectively halting the escalating argument. Looking rather uncomfortable, he asks uncertainly, “I thought you’ve both met before?”

Yeah, in _bed_ , Jane wants to say, and it wasn’t the best of meetings either. “We did,” she says through gritted teeth, “though not under the best of circumstances.”

_Liar_. Even her body’s disagreeing with that one.

Loki’s unfazed by her returning glower. “There’s a part on singularity that needs more exposition, an unrealistic timeline that you’ve charted out and a horrendous budget estimate for the necessary equipment. Replicating the extreme energy density required to bring a wormhole into existence is a tall order for a research team, let alone one person. At the very least, surely you’d require an intern whom you could command at your own whims, if only to organise the mess that your files are most likely in,” Loki continues without skipping a beat. “In short, it’s flawed in many ways. But what you’ve proposed is relatively interesting and…passable.”

“Passable?” She sputters and yanks her folder out of his outstretched hand as though he has just defiled her notes. “Just who the hell do you think you are?”

He looks at her coolly. “Someone who might secure the precious funds you need.”

And thus putting her in a position where she’ll owe him big time if he does. Given their already sordid history, this can only get worse, as far as she’s concerned.

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Jane,” Erik says hurriedly, finally latching onto the growing – and most likely, incomprehensible – hostility. “Jane, you needn’t worry. Loki’s a post-doc fellow in my group. And as far as credentials go, he has a double first in the engineering sciences from Oxford, post-graduate and doctorate degrees in management and finance, applied physics and aeronautical engineering from Harvard and Cambridge.” He claps Loki once on the back in appreciation, not noticing how the younger man’s shoulders automatically stiffen in reaction. “And if he says he’s got some ideas about funding, then he probably does. It’s your best bet right now if you want approval for this proposal badly enough.”

“Oh,” she says and frowns. So he’s pretty, rich _and_ intelligent, even though the last bit is just…unforgivable.

And how the hell did he get so many degrees anyway? In any case, why is she so surprised? He’d held his own too well during the drinking game which she’d dubiously won because of a technicality that could have easily been argued on the ground of semantics. “So it’s _Dr._ Loki Laufeyson?”

Loki’s jaw tightens. “I tend to prefer just ‘Loki’. But if that doesn’t reassure you, perhaps you could take some time off to peruse my transcripts and certificates in order to satisfy your morbid curiosity?”

“So you don’t really know each other then?” Erik interjects in confusion.

“We’re simply…acquainted,” Jane snaps back quickly, “in a manner of speaking.”

A small smile curves Loki’s lips, but it’s the most dangerous one he’s turned on her. “Despite what you might have been led to believe, Miss Foster, I’m not the cold-hearted fraud you think I am.”

Erik looks flustered and mildly horrified at the implications of Loki’s statement. “Look, Jane, I know how much this means to you. If you want, I’ll try to speak to Dr. Marrie again-”

“Marrie doesn’t know half of what we’re doing, Erik. But he isn’t the only one pulling all the strings,” Loki counters calmly.

“But our funding-”

“Leave that to me.” He’s saying it too confidently for her liking.

The weight of several restless nights must be messing with her hearing. Maybe she’ll go back to sleep and wake up with the world spinning about on the right axis this time.

Erik’s already shaking his head. “Not to pour cold water on this, Loki, but the approval process itself will be an uphill battle and the budget for the year is already fixed.”

“Trust me,” he says with a grim smile. “There are other ways which aren’t illegal.”

Jane’s jaw is dropping for the second time in the day. It’s not too much of a secret that money battles have gotten ugly around here and Laufeyson is talking about funding like it’s no issue to him at all after taking on her pet project like it’s his own. Or is there something that she’s missing here?

Erik’s relief is palpable as he shifts his nervous gaze from her to Loki and back again. “Good, good. We’ll meet again to talk about this. Well then, great going, folks, but I have a meeting waiting for me. Until then, Jane, you’re with Loki. And you’ll be in good hands,” he says and crosses the room to swing the door wide open.

Loki winks, mutters a “Cheers, mate” to Erik, and takes the immediate hint to get lost.

Before she knows what’s happening, Jane finds herself summarily booted from Erik’s office still in the middle of mouthing her goodbyes.

_What the…_

Swallowing a curse, she raises a hand to knock on the door to demand re-entry, then notices Loki already striding down the corridor before disappearing around the corner leading to the faculty lobby. Changing her mind in the next second, Jane charges after him instead, skidding even a little as she makes that sharp turn, but he isn’t slowing his pace for her as he expertly weaves an elegant path through the mix of post-grads and undergrads milling around in between classes.

“Hey!”

He’s blatantly ignoring her now and it’s hard not to feel even more slighted than she’s already feeling after-

Jane exhales noisily in frustration. If he wishes to play the bastard…then he’s leaving her no choice but to do what she’s going to do. Sticking two fingers into her mouth, she blows a shrill wolf-whistle, then hollers at the top of her voice, loud enough to stop all activity along the corridor.

“Dr. Laufeyson!”

Now _that_ stops him short, she smugly observes. Unfortunately, that has also brought _everything_ else to a halt, including the Mrs. Tilds, the elderly secretary at the front desk who’s hard of hearing.

Jane’s sure her face is as red as the Wellingtons she’s wearing as the sea of students parts for her, but she takes her time deliberately sauntering up to him, excruciatingly aware of his piercing gaze following her every move as she casually holds out her folder to him.

“I think you forgot something.”

He takes it and tucks it under his arm. “On the contrary, I believe you snatched it from me in a huff.”

She folds her arms. “I’m not arguing with you. Look, I’m worried that-”

“I did say I’ll take care of it, didn’t I?”

“Fine.” Jane relents reluctantly, deciding to leave him to his mysterious ways for now. But there’s something she needs to know as she tries to ask the very question that has been bugging her ever since Loki decided to make himself a _vital_ part of _her_ work. Lowering her voice as she tries to ignore the naked, unwanted stares of the students around them, she whispers, “Why are you doing this? What are you trying to gain from even helping me?”

He throws her a cool stare, his face as unreadable as flint under the harsh, fluorescent lights of the corridor. “If you think this is an act of charity simply because we slept together, then you’re sorely mistaken.”

His words bring back a flush of heat to her cheeks and with it, all the memories of their tumble between the sheets and the acrimonious morning after.

“You’re a bastard.”

“And yet you slept with one. I wonder, what does that make you?” He straightens abruptly, the intensity in his eyes replaced by opaque nonchalance. “Very well, if you so choose to do things this way, Jane, then so be it,” he says lightly. “I’ll be in touch.”

oOo

**Saturday, September 25, 2004, 1700 hrs**  
**Prism Dynamics (North American Headquarters)  
** **Manhattan, New York City**

“She’ll be out to see you shortly, Mr. Odinson.”

Loki nods curtly, then walks to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the visitors’ waiting area, looking out at the city that never sleeps. From the ninetieth storey, New York is artificially muted by glass and height; skyline meets horizon in a hypnotic blur of concrete grey, neons and blues, the jarring noises of human activity softened only by the deeper, kinder orange glow of the coming twilight.

He loves it here, never failing to be invigorated by the buzz of big city lights, so different from the quiet, quaint and genteel university towns that he’d lived in for longer than he can remember. Time always runs distorted in New York. It’s faster, set on an entirely different curve, fuelled by the frenetic, unrelenting pace of constant movement – and a world apart from academia.

“I was beginning to get worried.”

He turns as the familiar voice speaks and crosses the room immediately when the door opens and a well-dressed woman with perfectly coiffed hair walks in.

“Hello, Mother.”

Frigga pulls him deeper into a hug longer than he expects. “You’ve not written or called for a while and suddenly, I find you at our doorstep.”

He gives her a small smile in return. “I thought you liked surprises.”

She laughs. “Only good ones.”

“I think you know why I’m here,” he tells her quietly, releasing himself from her embrace.

She sobers and says, “I might have an idea. Is that’s why you’re speaking to me and not to your father or your brother?”

“You know me, Mother.” His half-hearted jest is gentle and ironic.

“I’m your mother in all but blood, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Loki smirks, though it’s not without a slight, bitter tinge of regret. “How could I?”

Frigga’s demeanour takes on a sternness that warns him not to disregard what she’s about to say. “As we are your family, despite all that has happened.”

He purses his lips and turns back to the windows, the action as deliberate as his reply. “Did you read what I sent you yesterday?”

There is a slight pause. “I did.”

“And your verdict?”

“Justifiably worthy of an increased injection of funds into Selvig’s research group if Jane Foster’s proposal’s milestones are made more explicit.”

He turns back to see a small, knowing smile on her lips. “I did tell you it would be a worthwhile venture.”

“If a condition is met.”

“Is that the sound of the other shoe?”

“It isn’t as difficult as you think. To protect the vested interests and the investments of the company, we’d simply like you to have a more, shall we say, _personal_ stake in Foster’s project. Supervise it, dedicate a portion of your time to it. Ensure its viability.”

The news isn’t entirely unexpected. But to take it as far as project supervision…Loki wonders how Jane Foster will react to this particular development when she hears it.

He makes a snap decision. “Consider it done, Mother,” he says and strides towards her, placing a small kiss on her cheek. “Then I have some news to deliver.”

oOo

From there, it’s an easy, seamless journey back to Massachusetts. He decides to drive instead of opting for the private plane that’s at his disposal, taking the time to think about the proposal that sounds far more enticing as it should, that’s as intriguing as its source.

The green folder sits on the passenger seat, unopened. Loki eyes it once, then picks it up when he’s forced to stop at a red light. There are details he needs to relook, unusual calculations to redo with her – all of which hint at potential, elusive resolutions that hadn’t, up until now, occurred to him.

Within a space of a minute, the light changes back to green and he tosses the folder back on the seat as he accelerates into the freeway, fairly satisfied with what he’s seen.

Jane Foster is definitely onto something, even though the proposal’s end point is still a murky place. He finds it curious that the brand of science seems to bear a signature that’s uniquely hers, even if the theory isn’t new: her patterns of thought, her intuitive reasoning that she tries to back up with hard evidence, her extrapolations that go miles further than any other graduate student could ever go.

Everything in this folder is what she believes to be the culmination of her career. It’s reckless, passionate, just short of madness in certain sections. But from it, he’s also learning that the project is as much about _her_ as it is about the hypotheses she posits and that’s an opportunity he knows better than to give up. 

Exactly the sort of challenge he craves.

Loki attaches the headset, reaches for his mobile and punches in her number, impatiently waiting for her to pick up.

When she does, she’s breathless, as though she has just sprinted around her apartment tearing through the place to look for the misplaced phone. Knowing her, she probably had.

“Good evening, Jane.”

“Loki?!”

He likes that he surprises her – yet again, then repeats his words from their meeting last Saturday. “The one and the same.”

She pauses, clearly remembering. “Yeah. Why are you calling?”

He cuts to the chase. “I’ve some news for you.”

“What sort?”

There’s enough wariness in her voice to make him chuckle. “Let’s just say it’s something we should discuss over supper.”


End file.
